


Steam

by j_s_cavalcante



Category: due South
Genre: First Time, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/pseuds/j_s_cavalcante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><i>Thanks to my awesome beta for superb insta-beta service above and beyond the call of duty!</i></p>
    </blockquote>





	Steam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Queue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queue/gifts).



> _Thanks to my awesome beta for superb insta-beta service above and beyond the call of duty!_

“What is wrong with you, Kowalski?”

Vecchio’s not yelling. It’s not the first time he has asked Ray that question today, but he hasn’t once yelled it. Oh, sure, he gave Ray plenty of grief--nothing new there--but none of it was actually _loud._

Ray doesn’t answer, because he knows it’s not a real question. It’s one of those things, those Rhesus-whatsits questions you don’t need to answer. What Vecchio’s really asking is when is Ray going to finally get the hell over himself and cut it out.

Ray can’t answer that, because he’s still steamed like an overheated engine, and he’s got no fucking _off_ switch.

If he had an off switch, Vecchio’d probably be it, because Vecchio’s got this way of talking, especially when Ray’s steamed. Ray doesn’t know what to call it, this silk-smooth thing Vecchio does with his voice when he’s handling you carefully, as though he knows you’re stretched to the limit and fraying quick, two threads from the complete breaking point.

He’s been using that voice on Ray all day, and that is not a good sign.

But it makes some sense. Ray’s been doing all of the yelling that had to be done, plus a year’s worth of extra-credit yelling, all day.

He yelled at perps, but that’s just part of the job. He yells, Vecchio coaxes quietly or threatens coolly, and perps magically start talking. It’s not quite “polite cop, bad cop,” but it’s Ray and Ray, it’s how they do things, and it works in its own way.

Ray went and yelled at himself in the men’s room mirror, but it didn’t help.

He even yelled at Frannie once, but she just gave him a sympathetic look and told him to fizz off. Ray thought she was probably trying for “fuck off” or “buzz off,” but, heck, it was all the same. The sympathetic look on her face hit him like a gut punch. If Frannie dropped the ditz act and offered him sympathy, he had to be seriously down for the count.

He ended up apologizing and buying her takeout for lunch.

He was lucky Welsh didn’t hear him yell at Frannie, and he’s _really_ lucky Vecchio didn’t hear it, ’cause Vecchio might have hit him and gotten suspended, and then Ray’d have had to work without a partner for a day or two, and that would’ve sucked.

Not to mention how getting hit by his partner would’ve sucked—even though for Ray that’s nothing new. Fraser nearly put his lights out twice, never mind that both times Ray had to talk him into doing it, for what turned out to be pretty stupid reasons. But Ray had always been kinda slow to learn some things.

What would’ve sucked worse would’ve been the silence around the apartment, if, besides hitting him, Vecchio decided not to talk to him, too. So far, Vecchio hasn’t been silent, but he isn’t yelling, either.

Ray may be kinda slow on the uptake with some things, but he didn’t get his detective’s shield out of a Cracker Jack box.

Neither did Vecchio, even though he’s got the “stupid flatfoot” act down to a science. So obviously he doesn’t need to ask what’s wrong with Ray. Obviously somebody fucking told him.

Therefore, Ray does not need to answer Vecchio, because Vecchio already fucking knows. That seems to make sense to Ray’s slightly screwed up cop brain, even if it’s a bit, what does Fraser call it, circular. That’s Fraser’s word for a Yogi-ism. Like it ain’t over till it’s over.

Which, today, it’s fucking over. At least, case CPD-371189 is over.

See, if Ray arrests a bad guy? Said bad guy should _stay_ arrested, get convicted, go to jail, make license plates, maybe wise up after 7 to 10 or however long he got, end of story. Said bad guy should not get out after six months for stupid reasons, none of which are Ray’s fault, and go out on the streets to endanger the law-abiding citizens of Chicago all over again.

If Ray sees a look of sympathy on Vecchio’s face, he just might go clear off his nut.

Ray can’t fucking _take_ it if Vecchio says anything stupid, either, like _tough luck today, Kowalski_ , or _it sucks, get used to it_ , or _these things happen_ , or any of his other typical smart-ass comments.

Ray _knows_ this kind of shit happens. Happens all the fucking time. He and Vecchio both have had to deal with it all the years they’ve spent on the force.

This one really hurts, though, because Ray made this arrest eight months ago with _Fraser_ , the last arrest before the Muldoon case took them up to Canada and Ray and Fraser stayed to look for Franklin’s hand.

Fraser had risked his skinny neck for this one big-time. Ray risked his, too, but it was what Fraser did that really yanked Ray’s chain. Fraser chased the guy through traffic and jumped off a three-story roof, catching on a broken, rusty fire escape and swinging down and Fraser got the bad guy with a flying tackle that brought him head-first up against the side of a building, and he almost got his Canadian neck broken.

Not to mention, even after all that running and diving and almost killing himself, Fraser’s so good with details that he had all the Is dotted and all the Ts crossed on the paperwork. The conviction should’ve stuck like glue.

Instead, it came unstuck after six months because of something one of Stella’s colleagues did wrong, and the perp just walked, sentence reduced to time served, and he was out of the big house and back on the streets to terrorize and maim again.

All because the fucking State’s Attorney has some idiot working for him who is _not_ Stella and who can’t fucking remember to list all the evidence on the sheet that went to the court and got discovered, or whatsits, to the defense. And the jackass bleeding-heart judge fucking _punished_ the people of Chicago by putting that creep back out on the street.

The worst of it was having to go up there and testify before the judge again this morning, and having to be in the hallway outside the courtroom when the scumbag went free, and having to stand there silently while the perp gave Ray the evil eye that said they both knew he was going to get some more innocent Chicagoans dead before Ray could stop him.

And all Ray could do was glare at him and then go back to the 2-7 and try to fit some actual detective work in around the yelling and kicking things.

Ray’s going to have to tell Fraser about it. He owes him that, it was Fraser’s collar, too, and he really, really doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t want to see that look of disappointment come over Fraser’s face.

Fraser will know it wasn’t Ray’s fault, but he’ll probably think it might be _Stella’s_ fault, which Ray is not about to let anybody think, and that means a whole big explanation will have to happen, and Ray _so_ does not want to talk about it.

At least it’s end of shift, finally, and the look on Welsh’s face says he’s glad Ray and Ray are going home so he doesn’t have to shoot them.

They get in the car. It’s Vecchio’s car today, which is lucky for Vecchio and for everybody else on the road, because Ray getting behind the wheel in this mood would be very, very bad for all concerned. Vecchio still doesn’t say a damn thing. Well, good. Ray doesn’t need him to talk. Talking would not be good, because if Ray talks it’s going to come out very, very loud, and Vecchio just might pull over and toss Ray out to find his own way home.

Really, why doesn’t he? Ray thinks. None of this was Vecchio’s fault, either, and he didn’t damn well deserve what Ray put him through today. And Vecchio knows how it is, but Ray’s snarling and snapping at anything and everything in his path. Like Turtle when you dangle food in front of him, he can’t help biting at it even if he isn’t hungry.

Ray’s got no idea why Vecchio took Ray’s bad attitude on the chin like that. They’re cop partners, yeah, even roommates, but even partners has a limit.

Ray’s way past the limits. Ever since Fraser, Ray’s kind of forgotten how to do partners in any kind of normal way.

And that’s a whole new line of questioning—hah, in more ways than one. It kind of grabs Ray by the throat when he thinks of it, of his time with Fraser. It chokes him up just a little, but that’s actually good, that is good, because he has stopped _yelling._

Which means Vecchio is probably going to be good with continuing to drive Ray home instead of tossing his ass out on the street.

Ray swallows hard and pushes his fist against his head.

Vecchio keeps driving, acting like he doesn’t notice a thing, but Ray can feel it’s an act.

For all the talking and bickering and yelling the two of them do, there are some things they don’t talk about, and their duet’s one of them.

Ray hasn’t been singing the same part in the choir since Fraser, that’s for damn sure.

Emphasis on the _choir,_ of which Ray is apparently a member, which is not something he was comfortable admitting or even thinking about, back in his Stella-chasing days, but was always kind of _there_ , hovering.

 _For me it was always Steve McQueen,_ he remembers telling Fraser, early on. Which Fraser either didn’t understand or didn’t let on that he understood.

Ray could live with that just fine when he worked with Fraser every day, but that was then.

This is now. He doesn’t really know whether Vecchio’s on to him, on account of how it never came up in so many words, but Vecchio’s no dope, and they live in the same apartment. Vecchio’s still getting mail over at his actual house, but after Vegas he couldn’t stand the noise, and after the crazy Franklin’s Hand thing in the Great White Freezer, Ray couldn’t stand the quiet—or rather, the emptiness. Before Fraser came back to Chicago, which was only a couple of months ago, Ray thought he was maybe going to come permanently unhinged, rattling around alone in his apartment. And for reasons that Ray’s got no fucking idea why at this juncture, Vecchio just showed up with his frying pan in his hand like Felix (or was it Oscar?) and Ray let him in.

Hell, the apartment already had Vecchio’s name on it.

Yeah, Ray’s pretty much ruined for normal partnership interaction these days. It’s been eight months since Fraser quit working regularly with the CPD and therefore Ray. Taking over Thatcher’s job at the Consulate was pretty much the price of coming back to Chicago.

That sucks big time, but it is one million times better than Fraser being far away in the Northwest Areas and Ray never seeing him again.

Plus, if Ray’s got to have a partner who is not Fraser, Vecchio is not too damn bad. He’s got a good heart, he doesn’t have to have cop lingo explained to him (which is a refreshing change), and he has this sixth sense about stuff that makes him show up like the cavalry when there’s real trouble.

Fraser says Vecchio’s always been like that.

That’s the guy, sensitive guy, that Ray spent the better part of the day yelling at for no good reason.

Ray’d make it up to him, except he _can’t,_ he can’t talk about it even to apologize. If Ray lets out any words they’re going to be poison; he can feel the venom in him and he doesn’t know how to make it go away. Maybe he should go to the gym, but Vecchio’s glancing over him, and Ray knows Vecchio can see how tired Ray is, and Vecchio’s eyes are saying they both know Ray shouldn’t go to the gym. He’d fall right off his feet, probably, because fighting the anger that’s roiling in him has been tough, and Ray’s been fighting it since ten o’clock in the morning.

He slumps in his seat, but that’s pointless times two, because Vecchio’s car purrs to a halt in its parking space, and Vecchio is out and tugging Ray from his seat before a wacky Canadian could have said “Jimmy cracked corn.”

“C’mon,” is all Vecchio says, but it’s enough. Ray follows him without even feeling the urge to speak. He’s all out of words.

Vecchio hauls him up to their place, and before Ray knows it, he’s being manhandled, his jacket pulled off him and Vecchio prodding him gently all the way to the bathroom door.

Vecchio points one long finger. “In,” he says. “Take a shower. Lots of hot water. Steam.”

Hair of the dog, Ray thinks. But what the hell. Even the turtle’s thinking clearer than him right now.

So he takes a shower and tries to scrub the bad-guy stink off him.

Vecchio’s out in the kitchen, banging things around, and Ray’s thinking _Scotch_ , but Vecchio was clearly thinking something else, because when Ray comes out, Vecchio shoves a mug into his hand, and it’s _tea._

One guess as to where Vecchio got that idea. It’s hot and sweet.

Ray’s in his bedroom looking around for some sweats or something to put on when he hears Vecchio talking out in the kitchen, and he nearly sticks his skinny neck out to ask Vecchio to repeat it, when he realizes Vecchio was not talking to him.

There’s another voice out there, velvet to Vecchio’s silk. Ray would know that voice anywhere; hell, he dreams about it, some nights.

Fraser.

If Ray thought he got gut-punched this morning, then this was a fucking KO.

He’s going to have to tell Fraser about the overturned conviction sooner or later, but he had his sights set on later. Right now, Ray’s in no shape, even if he could get the words out. _His_ voice is sandpaper.

“Yes,” he hears the velvet voice say in the living room, getting nearer. “Yes, I see.”

Ray can’t swallow around the lump in his throat.

Then they’re there, crowding into his doorway, both of them, and Ray’s standing there like an idiot, clutching his towel around his hips.

“Ray,” Fraser says, and there’s so much _feeling_ in his eyes. Ray must be dyslexic, because it’s that same look that he has always, always read wrong.

“Frase,” he rasps.

“It’s all right,” Fraser says, so Ray knows Vecchio has told him at least part of it. Ray should be mad, but he’s not; he’s glad somebody saved him from having to say the words.

He shakes his head, because it is _not._ It is not all right, and he’s not even thinking about the overturned conviction any more.

Vecchio’s standing there in the doorway glancing from him to Fraser and back again with this exasperated expression, like he can’t believe what idiots the two of them are being.

Ray must be reading that one wrong, too, he thinks, but Vecchio smirks and steps on through the doorway and right up into Ray’s face.

“You two give me agita,” Vecchio says. “What do I gotta do, knock your thick heads together?”

Ray shrugs. “Maybe.”

Fraser startles, though. “I—I don’t…”

“Yeah, well,” Vecchio says. “Maybe time to start.”

Fraser’s face goes a little pink, like he maybe understood something, but Ray’s still in the dark.

Vecchio rolls his eyes and says, “Ray” in that raw-silk voice. Not “Kowalski.” Not “Stanley.”

“Uh,” Ray says, and it’s all he can say.

Vecchio grasps him by the shoulder and kisses him.

And Jesus, his mouth is warm, and Ray finds out that Vecchio’s tongue is silk-soft, too, and that he can kiss like a fucking champion.

When Vecchio lets him up for air, Ray sees Fraser still there in the doorway, riveted where he stands, and his face is more red than pink, now. But his eyes are _hot_.

Unless Ray’s still dyslexic. He’s still clutching his towel. Okay. Okay, first things first. He looks at Vecchio, who’s standing right up against him and wearing a smug little grin. “But…you’re not…”

Vecchio shrugs, looks over his shoulder at Fraser, then back at Ray. “I’m…adaptable.”

“Vegas?” Ray guesses, 'cause he’s got no other possible guess, outside of maybe Stella ruined Vecchio for all other women, and he’s just not going there in his brain. Not there.

“Yeah, maybe,” Vecchio says. “Vegas changes a guy.”

“Not that much.”

“The parts of Vegas I was in.”

“So he was gay, this mob guy you had to be?”

“Yeah.” Vecchio shrugged. “Well, bisexual, but, you know. Same idea, with added girls.”

“Like me,” Ray says, real quiet, and he can’t look at Fraser. He is not looking at Fraser. Fraser’s face is a warm blur in the background.

Ray can hear Fraser _breathing_.

Vecchio turns away, towards Fraser, puts out his hand and…

…pulls Fraser in. Tugs him into the circle of his arms and Ray’s arms so they’re both holding him.

Ray’s towel is on the floor, and he only notices that when they all have to step over it, because it’s between them and the bed.

“Ray,” Fraser says to Vecchio. “This is…rather…”

“Sudden?” Vecchio says with an ironic lilt.

“Well…yes.”

Vecchio grabs Fraser’s hand and tugs till he’s shoved it into Ray’s grip. Their hands join perfectly, like they always did from the very first handshake.

“Sudden, huh,” Vecchio says again. There’s laughter hovering in his eyes.

And Ray feels something loosen, lighten up, inside his chest, almost like he’s not that far from beginning to laugh, himself. Because, Christ, Vecchio _kissed_ him. Vecchio put Fraser’s hand in Ray’s hand and Fraser is standing there, with both of them, at the foot of Ray’s bed with Ray naked…and Vecchio’s putting one hand on the back of Fraser’s neck, which Ray now sees perfectly clearly how that looks, a guy’s hand on another guy’s neck, something Fraser’s done to him…and that’s interesting, that makes Ray’s lips twitch like he might even be able to smile.

Fraser has this kind of sheepish look. Not quite a caribou-in-the-headlights, but Vecchio’s not stopping there with the surprises. He still has a hand free, and he grins and wraps it around Ray’s cock.

Which has apparently been noticing the proceedings and is taking serious interest in them. Ray stiffens in Vecchio’s grip, and Vecchio gives him one stroke down, one stroke up.

Ray lets out a moan because he can’t help it, and Fraser looks like he’s going to melt right there. Fraser gulps air and swallows hard and grates out “Ray,” and his eyes are riveted on Ray’s.

Vecchio puts his lips up to Fraser’s ear and says, quietly, “Want to blow him?”

“Oh, God, yes,” Fraser says.

If they hadn’t pushed Ray back onto the bed at that moment, he would have fallen anyway.

Fraser’s apparently getting up to speed now, because he slides down on the bed next to Ray, leans over him, and brings his lips close to Ray’s. “Ray, would you like…?”

Ray arches up to kiss him. “Anything, Frase,” he says when he comes up for air. “You gotta know I been wanting you from Day One.”

“Ah,” Fraser says. He kisses his way down Ray’s chest, then his belly. He doesn’t hesitate. His tongue on Ray’s cock is velvet, warm and wet.

Ray’s moaning. He’s digging his heels into the mattress to anchor himself, so he can stay on the same planet with his partners, it’s that good. Levitation is a real possibility, he thinks with that part of his brain that can still think.

Vecchio’s been moving around on the other side of the bed, and when he slides up against Ray on the other side from where Fraser is, Ray can feel Vecchio’s skin against his.

Fraser is pulling off gently to nuzzle Ray’s balls and then he fills his super-capacity lungs and goes down on Ray as far as he can, swallowing him whole.

That’s it for Ray; he’s gone, shooting his heat down Fraser’s throat, and Fraser’s drinking him, fast.

Vecchio is wrapping himself around Ray now, and, yeah, he’s into it—his hard cock is poking Ray’s hip. When Ray has the energy, he finds Fraser’s hand and puts it on Vecchio’s cock. There’ve been enough words today. Ray’s good with staying in this bed till they’ve all had everything they need.

Everything they want, too. Somehow, he gets they’ve been building toward this all along. Maybe since they all met, two twosomes and now one threesome.

It’s wacky and different, he guesses, but it’s them, it’s Ray and his two partners, and it just might work. He doesn’t think tonight is the time to discuss any of that stuff. God knows with the three of them it could turn into a hell of an argument just as easily as anything, but now they’ve apparently got some kind of safety valve. Just the kind of thing Ray’d needed all day.

Fraser makes Vecchio wait while he moves back up to Ray and kisses his mouth softly. “Ray.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you…how are you…?”

Ray can’t help it, he laughs just a little. Because what kind of a question is that, under the circumstances? “I’m good, Frase.” He hooks Fraser behind the neck and pulls him down to kiss him back. When he lets go of him he says, “I love you.”

Fraser nods. “And I you, Ray.”

Ray has heard that before. He grins. Then he grins over at Vecchio, who is looking a little strained, trying not to hump the bed while he’s waiting for Fraser and Ray to finish with the hearts and flowers. “And I love you, too, Vecchio,” he says with a smirk, because it’s just how they are, the two of them. But he means it, and he knows Vecchio knows that.

“Back atcha,” Vecchio says.

"Vegas," Ray snarks, only half under his breath. "Right."

He sees Vecchio's shoulder move a tiny bit, a little shrug. Hah. Yeah. Vegas, all right. Good one.

“Now take care of the man, Fraser,” Ray says, “while I work on getting my strength back, because in a few minutes, Ray and I are both gonna do you together.” He doesn’t have to ask Vecchio; they’ve got the partner vibe just like Ray and Fraser always did.

Fraser sees that. He looks from one Ray to the other. “Ah,” he says. “I see. Well then.”

“He’s babbling,” Ray says to Ray.

“Mm-hm,” Vecchio says back, but his attention’s on what Fraser’s hand is doing, stroking him perfectly. Ray puts an arm around each of them and settles back to watch while he catches his breath. He thinks he could almost get hard again just seeing that.

And if not, there’ll be time.


End file.
